Memoria Praeteritorum Bonorum
by Little Miss Illusional
Summary: The past is always recalled to be good... but rosy introspection isn't exactly a priority for vampires. A series of drabbles following the characters of Young Dracula. Reviews are always welcomed!
1. There you are again

_memoria praeteritorum bonorum  
("the past is always recalled to be good")_

Hi there! This is going to be a series of short drabbles, some linked, most not though. Be warned; these are drabbles, and WILL be short. The longest will be around 500 words in length, but most will be around 100 words.

* * *

_So, there you are again._

* * *

Vlad rose from his slumber, dark eyes weary with sleep. Uncrossing his arms, he moved to propel himself out of his coffin, but caught himself after a glance at his feet.

A tiny beam of light poured at the edge of the coffin; the last rays of the setting sun. It was only the smallest of sunrays, but it burned into his eyes. He sat, mesmerised, watching as the beam began to fade and glide back through the window with the glowing sunset. As Vlad watched, it was fading… failing… gone.

Not for the first time, the reluctant vampire longed for sunlight.


	2. All dead and buried

_All dead and buried._

* * *

Bertrand du Fortunessa, Vlad had decided, knew a thing or two about everything.

What homework Erin couldn't help with, his tutor would be able to answer with that little knowing grin of his and maybe a snide remark. History was the older vampire's favourite – he had an anecdote for every assignment. _Napoleon? Good old Boné, bit pompous though._

His real passions seemed to be vampire lore and physical combat; things Vlad didn't have a clue about. He'd noticed that his tutor was amused by Vlad's lack of knowledge about their race's history. Yet, he'd been learning – fast. He found the subject boring at best; long-dead vampires and old war stories didn't appeal to him like they did to his tutor.

Still, as much as he detested vampire history, it was better to keep Bertrand on that topic, rather than combat.

Vlad had learnt many months ago that once Bertrand was on the subject of combat, he was unstoppable.


	3. Impertinent

_Impertinent_

* * *

The Count had given up on the females of his own kind long ago, and instead craved the attention of reeking, stinking, dim-witted, pulsing, living, _breathing_ humans.

He wasn't sure what made Breather women so delightful. Sure, living blood was better than bottled no matter which way you looked at it. Maybe it was the look of surprise on their face as his sank his gleaming fangs into their warm, beating bodies.

Yes, it was the emotions. The _range_. Vampire women didn't have them like Breathers did. Magda had only been capable of self-glorification. Her daughter was no better. But Breathers… they had desperation and hope; joy and rage; security and fright. And the Count loved them for that.


	4. They all change

_They all change._

* * *

Erin Noble was an extremely neat and ordered person. She folded clothes and paired socks. Her study routine was kept flawlessly, down to the minute. She paid phone bills on time. Hell, her books were arranged in alphabetical order.

So how had she let things get so _messy_?

It was supposed to be a quick slaying. Dust Ingrid while she was sick. Then the Count. Then Vlad.

But she didn't. Or couldn't. Either way, the mess kept piling up around her like bags of litter around a bin. And she was trying. She really was _trying _to sort things out. She _tried_ to see through the Count's human tendencies and Ingrid's initial friendship. She _tried _to ignore Vlad's feelings and she _tried _to repress her own.

Try as she may, the mess she'd made clung like shadows.


	5. You must be happy

_You must be happy, too, deep down, if you only knew it._

* * *

_Happy_ was not a word often used to describe Ingrid Dracula. Content, satisfied, amused, pleased… but never happy.

And yet, Bertrand felt her wicked grin might just be a sign of a deep, buried happiness in the cold confines of her dark heart.

"You know, Bertrand, I think that having you around might prove to be quite… enjoyable."

He raised an eyebrow, watching her out of the corners of his eye. "I'm beginning to think that, too."

Ingrid's smirk widened, pale eyes flashing. She paced towards him, silent, like a lion hunting its prey. Bertrand couldn't help but shiver. It was unnerving; the effect the young vampire had on those around her. Equally as dark as vampires three times her age, and twice as cunning, Bertrand knew she was the most dangerous one of the family.

He'd been watching his back around her.


	6. I'm not still asleep

_Sometimes I wonder if I'm not still asleep._

* * *

Vampires dream of bloodshed and despair. Dawn to dusk misery and loneliness for the darkest creatures of the world. In their coffins, the Dracula family retire into screams and solitude.

Vlad dreams of Erin.

He thinks of her often in his mind's eye; it's little more than a love and less than practical. But it's _his_ realm, more so than the living world. In his dreamlands, he can watch the sunset over distant horizons, and then retire to a secluded place with the slayer whose empathy would just _have_ to be his undoing. They could sit, stare, and be encased by the twilight.

When the moon rises, and then sets, he'll tell her. He'll say _those_ words. He'll say them because he means them. He'll say them so it feels real. He'll say them because he can, because his humanity is the only part of his vampiric mind he can live with.

It's the only part she's not afraid of.

And she'll say the words back. Slowly at first, collecting herself along the way until they spill like a flooding river. A torrent of thoughts and feelings, and Vlad will never feel so alive in his undead life.

In his dreams, he'll kiss her. Not fervently fangs-and-tongue like he thinks he would with any other girl. No, Vlad would kiss her the way he'd cup water in his hands. Carefully and gently, holding her face tenderly and brushing their lips together. It'll only last a few seconds, and then they'll pull away and melt into each other's eyes.

He'll refrain from saying other words. The not-quite-so-heavy-but-still-weighted words. Their sentiment wasn't valued by him nor Erin, so he won't say _all the everything_. But he'll give her everything. The dreamlands, himself, anything she needed. _  
_

They will sit, stare, and watch the first rays of sunrise wrap around their arms in the glowing morning.


	7. A constant quantity

_The tears of the world are a constant quantity._

* * *

Ingrid Dracula was not one for crying.

Crying was a silly Breather way of seeking attention; she knew much more intimate ways of gathering notice. Tears were for children, and Breathers. She was neither; tears did not escape her dark eyes. Never. She was far too in control of her emotions to let that happen. She was self-assured, dark, haughty, unmovable Ingrid. Unwavering, from head to toe.

But, staring at the pile of ashes at her feet, she wondered now if the dreaded liquid would pour beyond her control.

_Will?_

She knelt, hugging her arms around her heaving shoulders. With Vlad unconscious a few feet away, and the Count imprisoned in the UV cage, she could afford herself a moment of weakness – just this once. Just for Will.

Will, the Breather that had ensnared her.

Will, the half-fang that loved her.

Will, the pile of ash that would never rise again.

For all her obstinate refusal to show any form of emotional anguish, Ingrid felt the singular tear well up in the corner of her eye. It trickled down her cold cheeks and, after clinging to her chin, fell to the dusty floor.

Had she been younger, or fanciful, she would have entertained some idea of remaining by the ashes. Ingrid was tempted, so very tempted, to sit by Will's remains and cry to her unbeating heart's content.

And yet she rose, pulling her eyes away from the grey ashes. With closed eyes and head bowed, she allowed herself two final words for her dead lover.

"Goodbye, Will."


End file.
